


Kingmakers

by MSquared79



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Davos offering his advice, Gen, Intrigue, Lyanna Mormont being awesome, Other, Political Alliances, Tyrion/ Sansa if you blink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-09 09:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12273189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSquared79/pseuds/MSquared79
Summary: Sansa figures out a way to keep power, and herself, out of Littlefinger's hands.  Now, she must work behind the scenes to see her plan through.  Thankfully, there are people willing to aid her.





	1. Lady Lyanna Mormont

**Author's Note:**

> This story came from a few places. One was trying to figure out Sansa’s thoughts as Jon was being proclaimed King of the North (couldn’t tell if she was pleased or annoyed), the other was just the sheer awesomeness of Lady Lyanna Mormont. It’s also been gestating more since a comment was made on Fanfiction.net about another one of my stories. 
> 
> And it was originally conceived as a one shot. I put it aside and came back to it the following morning thinking of other characters and how they can fit the title, even if they don't know or mean to. So, the pov will mainly be Sansa’s as she interact with others. I'm planning on those interactions being mainly with secondary characters. 
> 
> The timing will probably stay between “The Winds of Winter” and “Dragonstone". And, depending on how it goes, I am also considering doing a similar story with Daenerys.
> 
> I do hope I can offering a way of clearing up some of the issues people seem to have with the sixth season. Let me know what you think, I love to hear from my readers!

Sansa practically fled from the Godswoods, wanting desperately to get away from Petyr Baelish. Everything she had ever feared about him, he had just confirmed for her. He wanted the Iron Throne and her. He used her as a pawn, trying to play the game. Now, all Sansa’s mind was trying to figure out how to beat him at his own game. If not permanently, at least place what he sought out of his hands more.

For all she knew, she was her parents’ last trueborn child. Robb and Rickon were dead and Bran and Arya were lost, may even be with her parents and brothers, with the Stranger. She was the most valuable piece on the board right now, and her importance had only increased with her and the aid she had brought with her during the Battle of the Bastards.

She had hated that she had been forced to turn to Littlefinger for help. She hated that she had never brought that option to Jon in the first place, but she was trying to do anything to avoid Lord Baelish. However, after she had left Jon’s tent, after the final strategy session, she knew her brother was right. They needed to attack now. But she also knew she was also right, they needed a larger force. And the Knights of the Vale had the numbers they needed. 

Her decision made, she snuck away from the encampment, spurring her horse to Moat Cailin, where Baelish had brought his forces. He was overly courteous, pledging his devotion to her. She had corrected him, saying his forces were fighting for House Stark,and would be under the overall command of Jon Snow. Littlefinger had smiled and nodded, playing at understanding the agreement. But even as he was doing that, she could almost see the wheels turning in his head, how he could extort more from it than just an alliance. 

And how he was at it again, wheedling his way to his side, hoping for an opportunity to take control, of her, of Winterfell, of the North. And she had to figure out a way to stop him.

“Lady Stark,” a voice called out once she reached the inner halls of the keep. Sansa turned and saw Lady Lyanna Mormont approaching her. “A word, if you please.”

“Of course, Lady Mormont,” Sansa replied, taking the guise of a great lady, while trying to hide the face of a scared girl. As they walked to her solar, Sansa calmed herself even as she hoped for some privacy from any ears that could hear, and report back to their master. Once inside, Sansa turned to the young girl as she sat at her desk.

“I have received a raven from Bear Island. The Master of the Household has set off with provisions to add to what we have here. He says that he is bringing bushels of grain and plenty of fish to get us through the next few moons, at least,” Lyanna reported.

Sansa let out a breath. “I thank you, Lady Mormont. The provisions will be gratefully appreciated, with all the extra mouths to feed.” The wildlings and the forces from their allied houses that had survived were not great numbers, and House Arryn had brought plenty with them, but whatever the other houses could spare was needed, and thankful for it. “I will inform my brother of your contributions.”

Lyanna had nodded and was about to leave the room when a thought hit Sansa. She wasn’t sure if it would work, but looking at all her options with Baelish under her roof, it was a solution, at least. “Lady Mormont, stay. I wish to have you counsel on a matter I have been thinking on.”

“Whatever I can do, my lady.” She sat back down, across the desk from Sansa, waiting.

Sansa was trying to decide how best to couch her idea. “What do you think of my brother, Jon Snow?” she asked at last.

The young girl blinked, seemingly not expecting such a question. But after a thoughtful minute, she replied, “I think he is an honorable man, just as his father was. He is willing to die for his people, if it comes to that. He has great respect amongst the Lord Hornwood and Lord Maizen. From comments I have heard from him, it seems Lord Reed speaks especially highly of him and sees great leadership in him.”

Sansa noted her comment about Lord Reed in particular. The Lord of of Crannogomen had sent a raven that he would try to raise an army and fight beside them, but they had arrived the day after the battle. He was now in Winterfell, along with many of the Lords of the other bannermen of the Starks. “And do you agree with Lord Reed? Do you think he has the qualities to be a leader amongst our houses?”

Lyanna cocked her head once again, considering. “He came to me with nothing, but his honor, as a son of Lord Eddard Stark. He knew what was at stake for all of us, had this battle not been fought. My men told me of your brother’s death.” Sansa closed her eyes, remembering Jon telling her how Rickon had died. She had wanted Ramsey dead for everything he had done to her, but playing with Rickon, playing with his very life... But Lyanna’s words brought her out of her terrible memory. “They told me that he rode out into the middle of the field, willing to risk his life for the chance to save his brother, how he had nearly been killed by the rushing of the Bolton’s calvary. They told me how he fought, even as all hope seemed lost. But he was willing to die with his men, to his last breath.” With a knowing smile, she nodded her head. “That to me is the mark of a true leader, willing to sacrifice all.”

Sansa smiled back. “Do you know of Lord Petyr Baelish? What is your impression of him?” she asked next. 

“May I speak plainly, my lady?” came her own question.

“Always.”

“I am grateful for the Knights of the Vale. They were the deciding factor in this victory. They came to our aid, even though there are few ties between us,” Lyanna answered, but added, “Despite this, I am...uneasy around the Lord Protector of the Vale. I do not know him well, but I also...don’t think I want to know him at all.”

Sansa smiled back, pleased with the answer she had been given. Now for the next step. “Lady Mormont, you know there are still more battles to be fought. We need strong leadership if we are to defeat the Night King, and the forces of the South. Your mother proclaimed, with our other bannermen, my brother Robb as King of the North. Do you think it is right we do the same for Jon?”

Lyanna gave her a perplexed look. “You are the trueborn daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, my lady. Would it not be more fitting that we declare for you instead of a bastard?”

Sansa used to revel in that word, in that point about Jon. But in the years since fleeing King’s Landing, in surviving her way back home, she always knew the first step would be reaching Castle Black, reaching her brother. She had been scared at what she would find if she ever got there. He had never had the relationship with her that he had shared with Robb or Bran or Rickon. And she was certain that he would rather had been reunited with Arya first, above her.

But when he had come down the steps, had seen her, any cruelty on her part during their childhood was forgotten. It became more distant a memory with each passing second of being in each other company. Reminiscing about their child, their mutual regret about leaving Winterfell, then, later, with their determination of retaking their home, had bonded them stronger than Valyrian steel. 

She didn’t want the power, truthfully. Even if a little mockingbird were not perched on a branch, watching her every move, she would not want it. She had seen what power was when she was in King’s Landing. She had learned at the feet of a master at how power worked. She never feared becoming Cersi Lannister. She knew her own code, instilled in her by her father. But she had seen what power had done to him, and to Robb. And she did not want to tempt fate a third time.

“I do not wish it,” she said at last, speaking honestly with every word. “It was never anything I aspired to and I have seen what it can do to people. I was not born for politics, or diplomacy, or war. But in the last few moons, I have seen something in my brother…” She didn’t know how to describe it. He had a bearing about him that was humble yet regal. Mayhaps it was what he had gone through, just before they were reunited. Dying and returning to life, it had changed him. “I have seen in him the ability to navigate all three. I do not believe he wants power, but I think a crown would sit better on him than on me.”

Lyanna seemed to ponder her response. “You said you sought my counsel and I shall give it to you. I believe that you should follow your instincts. If you feel he would be the person to lead us into the Long Night, I will stand by you against any opposition. No matter what his name is, he is Ned Stark’s son. He is a Stark of Winterfell.”

Sansa let out a breath, feeling relief for the first time since her encounter with Littlefinger. She knew it was not a foolproof plan, and that Jon might not agree with it. But she had to see if it would take, if the other lords would do as Lyanna Mormont and stand by Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, as King of the North. “We will be holding a council with the lords within the next fortnight. If you see an opportunity, would you put it before them? Before or even during? I do not want to broach it myself. They may not take kindly to an idea I am abdicating in favor of him.”

Lyanna nodded her head and offered a small smile. “When I see the opportunities, I will put it before them.”

Sansa returned the nod. She got up and went to a table where a jug of ale sat there if she needed it. She poured two cups and handed the other to Lyanna. The young lady took it and, together,raised a silent toast to her co-conspirator.


	2. Lord Howland Reed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please allow me a little artistic license here and throughout this story. I know that most likely, Howland Reed wasn’t present at Winterfell during “The Winds of Winter.” And even though I am still relatively new to the GoT universe, I do know there is quite a distance from Greywater Watch to Winterfell. But I’d assume, as a bannerman of House Stark, Reed would try to help in the Battle of Winterfell and, failing that, be there when his liege lord calls for a council.
> 
> I wasn’t aware of the great distance between Moat Cailin and Winterfell. My bad. Anyone interesting in beta-ing me, let me know!

After speaking with Lady Mormont, and with her comments about Lord Howland Reed still repeating in her head, Sansa went looking for the marshland lord. After asking some of his own knights, they directed her to the crypts below Winterfell. 

Sansa understood that. She knew that he had been friends and comrades with her father, having fought Ser Arthur Dayne and the Kingsguard in Dorne. It had been years since Reed had been to Winterfell, so it made sense that he would go pay his respects to her father’s grave. And, just as expected, beside his monument, she found him.

“Lord Reed,” she said, her voice very quiet. The older man turned to her, a sad smile on his face. She returned it. “It’s been a very long time since I have seen you.”

He nodded. “You were still a little girl, playing at being a princess,” he remembered.

Sansa grimaced, thinking of those days from long ago. “I should have known is was much harder than pretty dresses and elegant feasts.” She walked over to him and gave him a tentative hug. “You have two children, if I remember correctly? Jojen and…?”

“Meera, my lady,” he answered. “I believe they may have set off this way. Jojen needed to find your brother, Brandon.”

“Bran?” Her breath caught in her throat. While never out of her thoughts, she was surprised that a man she had not seen in so long would say her brother’s name. Not long ago, she had thought him dead, killed by Theon Greyjoy. But her father’s former ward had admitted he had killed to young boys, smallfolk from outside of Winterfell to make it appear as if her brothers had died. That had given her hope that her two younger brothers may still be alive.

Ramsey Bolton dashed some of that hope on the battlefield. Jon had tried to do everything possible to save Rickon. In the end, she had been right in her words to Jon the night before. They never did get him back, and he crypt further down was the painful reminder.

“Why were your children looking for Bran?” she asked finally, absorbing the news.

He sighed deeply. “My son is blessed with greensight, my lady. He..has abilities far beyond yours or mine. I am not entirely certain of it all, but Jojen was the one who told me of your father’s death. We had not even received the raven’s message when he came…” Howland’s voice trailed off as he tried to regain control of his emotions. 

He was leaning on a pillar as he said that, looking to the ground. She placed her hand on his shoulder as he raised it again, their tear-stained eyes meeting. “You needn’t say anymore. I was there.”

“Oh, my lady,” he was all he whispered. He closed his eyes and willed his emotions to calm. After a minute, he said, “I had hoped that in coming here, I would meet up with them again, that they had succeeded in their mission with your brother. I have also been remiss in coming to pay my respects.” He turned back to Ned Stark’s effigy. “It is a long journey from Greywater Watch, but when you called on us, I knew it the time had come for me to heed my lord’s call. Not just for this council session, but…”

“I thank you for your presence. As does my brother, Jon,” Sansa said.

Something passed over his eyes when she said Jon’s name. But before she could acknowledge it, Howland spoke up. “Yes, I see your brother is by your side.”

“It was a long time in coming. We have traveled a hard road, but all the pain we experienced led us back to each other,” she told him. “We were not close as children and I see now I am poorer for it.”

“I know Catelyn had a hard time of it when Ned returned from the wars with Jon, but he would write to me often about how Jon had grown into the family, in spite of everything. I have not yet been able to speak to him, much beyond an welcoming greeting but I look forward to getting to know my good friend’s son.”

A thought popped into Sansa’s head. “You were with my father when he found Aunt Lyanna, am correct in remembering? Then you must have been with him when he found Jon.”

Howland shook his head, vehemently. “No, that was after we returned to Greywater Watch. He traveled onward to Winterfell, and found the child then.” He spared a glance at Lyanna Stark’s crypt, next to her father’s. “I feel that you have not sought me out to discuss my misadventures with your father.”

Sansa nodded,sensing he did not want to continue on the topic. “No, it is not the past, but the future. I have had discussions with Lady Lyanna Mormont.”

He chuckled at that. “Little Lady Lyanna. The she-bear, as ferocious as her mother. I fear for any man who gets in her way.”

Sansa smiled at that. “I have not seen anything that has intimidated her yet, my lord. Not even the bastard Ramsey Snow would scare her.” She remembered the look on the young lady’s face at the parley before the Battle of Winterfell. The scowl she wore would have frozen over even the Night King, she believed. “She has said you have spoken highly of my brother, yet you say you have not chanced to meet him yet.”

Howland’s face seemed to stricken, then grimace. “I said those words of praise based on what I had heard from Lord Maizen, Lord Hornwood and that Wilding chieftain. Another remarkable achievement of your brother’s, bringing the Wildings south of the Wall and making allies of them.”

“He saved many lives when he brought them from Hardhome. It was a debt of honor they were repaying with their service,” Sansa explained as she began to move to the exit of the crypt. Then she thought better of it, moving further into the burial chamber. “He paid for their safety with his own life.”

Howland continued along with her. “His life?”

Sansa stopped, cursing herself for what she said. Looking around quickly, she said in a low voice, “It was not something that has been known to many of the allied houses, and nothing to those who did not. Jon was killed by his brothers in the Night’s Watch. I do not even know all the details, but he was brought back to life, at the behest of Ser Davos Seaworth, by a Red Priestess from Asshai. The woman has since been banished by Jon for...other matters.”

Now Howland grimaced. “I had heard talk of Stannis Baratheon’s campaign here in the North, and how it ended. I know there was a witch amongst his followers and of something terrible that had been done to ensure the victory.”

“Ser Davos wished to execute her on the spot for a crime she committed, but Jon stayed it, warning her he would go through if she ever returned to the North,” Sansa explained further.

“A judicious man, but one not to be crossed. Just as his father.”

She eyed her father’s friend, studying him for any signs that would cause her unease. But she saw none. “Many of the lords, many here, proclaimed Robb King of the North when it was learned that the Lannisters had executed my father. You were not there, were you?”

“No, to my shame, I was not. I had been ill after what I had learned about your father. My maester advised me not to travel, and Meera would not let me leave until she was assured that I had recovered.” Another sigh. “That is another reason I was determined to be here, supporting House Stark in the retaking of Winterfell. Again, apologies my lady, for my tardiness.”

She nodded to him in understanding. “We still consider ourselves independent of the Southern kingdoms of Westeros and we still will have a fight in that struggle. There is also a much greater threat north of the Wall. One my brother has confronted in his time in the Night’s Watch.” She took a deep breath for her final arguments. “Do you think it would be right to declare Jon King in the North to lead us in these coming battles?”

Without a second’s hesitation, Lord Reed answered her. “My lady, I know of no better man than Jon Snow to wear a crown.” And Sansa could see he meant every one of his words. There was a sense of pride that seemed unleashed in him as he spoke to her. 

She gave him another challenge. “Even knowing I as the trueborn heir to my father? Even knowing Jon is an bastard?”

He looked contrite at her questions. “I mean no offense, Lady Sansa.”

“I am not offended. But it seems a queer choice, given that I have a stronger claim,” she assured him.

“But the blood of the Starks runs through his veins. That is king’s blood. And do not be mistaken, my lady. I do not think you would be any less fit for the position to lead us. But I do not sense it is something you would want yourself, if you are coming to me asking me such questions.” 

Sansa shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The shadow of Littlefinger hung over her, and for some reason, she knew Lord Reed sensed it. “Let us just say, I have concerns should I be looked to as a queen.” Then she lifted her eyes back to him. “I sent many years in King’s Landing, seeing the wheel at work over all, rich, poor, powerful, weak. I have seen how it can be manipulated by other through others.”

He nodded, seeming to understand. “When one has been used, the fear certainly grows for it to be used again. There is wisdom in stepping back, letting someone else take up the mantle of leadership.” He smiled at her, kindly. “But I would hope that your time in the capitol has shown you the nobility of true service, say in a councillorship?”

She raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. “I could think of nothing more...satisfying. While my brother is wise to the ways of war, he still has much to learn about the art of politics. Thankfully, my time away from Winterfell has aided in my education, inspite of my teachers.”

Lord Reed smiled and nodded. “Then, if that is the case, my acclaim for Jon Snow as King of the North is all the stronger with you by his side advising him. Be assured of that, My Lady.” With a graceful bow, Howland Reed took his leave of Sansa, walking to the surface. But, she did notice as he walked by her Aunt Lyanna’s crypt, he did glance at it. It struck her as curious for some reason, but why, she did not know.


	3. Ser Davos Seaworth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the time I started watching “Game of Thrones,” Davos Seaworth has been among my favorite characters. We have not seen much in the interaction of him with Sansa, but I think he would be among the people she would seek advice from, and, I think, would open up a little more than Jon himself about the betrayal of the Night’s Watch. 
> 
> Again, a little creative licence here, and, as always, I would love feedback from my readers.

Sansa had to admit, when she had first met Ser Davos Seaworth, she was not impressed. It had been a short while after she, Brienne and Podrick had arrived at Castle Black. The relief at seeing her brother for the first time in nearly six years blocked out most of her surroundings. From the moment she had seen Jon coming down the staircase to when he was returning her embrace with one as ferocious as her own, they were the only two at that place in that time. For all she knew, they were the only two Starks left in the world. 

Others filtered in, eventually. Tormound, a Wilding Jon had seemingly befriended. Edd, who her brother said was the acting Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. That didn’t make sense to her, since she had heard he had been elected to the post. And then, Ser Davos. He was a plain spoken man, polite, but blunt. She thought she had remembered hearing of him somewhere. Something about smuggling in support of Stannis Baratheon during a siege. But, at the time, he was just another new face, one that was forgotten until she had next encountered them. 

Davos seemed to be always at Jon’s side, after they had received Ramsey’s demands and agreed to take the fight to Winterfell. They had set off to beseech the other houses to aid them in the coming battle. Davos had proven his value to their cause when he convinced Lady Mormont to fight with them, as much as she tartly remarked on it. But he had an eloquence to him, framing the request as needed to protect the whole North from a greater foe. Even though he was a Southerner, he seemed to have taken on their struggle as his own. 

Before and after the battle, Jon had turned to him as one of his primary advisors. It annoyed her, but she did understand why her brother sought the older man’s counsel over her own. There were matters she admittedly knew little of, and Ser Davos had not yet given bad advice. Now, she herself sought out the so-called Onion Knight. She needed his counsel and she needed to learn things he seemed to know better about her brother as she proceeded with her plan. She found Ser Davos with the forgers. “Ser Davos?” Sansa asked when she walked up to him.

“My lady,” he responded, courteously nodding to her. “How may I be of service?”

She smiled. “I’d like to talk with you about some matters I have been thinking on.” The words were spoken with a gentle authority, every inch the lady of the castle. Again, the knight nodded and they headed in the direction of her solar. When they reached the room, she entered first and he closed the door behind her, taking a seat on the other side of her desk.

“What can I do for you, Lady Sansa?”

She took a deep breath as she began. “You seem to have come to know my brother Jon over the last few years, is that true?”

“Yes, I met him when I was in the service of Stannis Baratheon. He was a brother of the Night’s Watch then, stationed at Castle Black. Our forces garrisoned there after a battle with the Wildings,” Davos explained.

“What were your impressions of him then?”

Davos looked confused by the question, but went on to answer. “He was a honorable young man, devoted to his vows. So much so, he refused an offer Stannis made to him.” When Sansa’s eyebrow lifted, he went on. “When we were preparing to take back Winterfell, His Grace offered him a royal proclamation of legitimacy. With that, your brother would be able to claim his father’s titles, in the absence of any trueborn children alive, or present.”

“He refused it?” Sansa was surprised by this. She knew that, all his life, the one thing Jon craved was to be a Stark, be seen as equal as she, Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon. Sansa felt her father had wanted it as well, but her mother would never allowed it. She loved Catelyn, but in the years of turmoil that had happened since Ned Stark had been named Hand of the King, Sansa had come to realize how wrong her mother had been to deny Jon that recognition. She even shamed herself with the years of mistreatment of Jon, following her mother’s lead. 

Catelyn Stark had feared that, underneath it all, given the name Stark, Jon would turn on them and try to steal the title from her or her younger siblings. Now this revelation! Had Ser Davos not been with her, she may have laughed at the irony of the situation. Sansa was trying to give Jon what Catelyn had always feared. 

“Aye, my lady. Twice,” Davos replied, holding up to gloved stumps. “Once before, and then after, he had been named Lord Commander. Stannis wanted him to be Lord of Winterfell and Warden on the North when we finished off the Boltons and the Lannisters. But Jon said his duty was to the Night’s Watch, his vows were to them.”

That was the perfect segway into the next topic she wanted to broach. “Ser Davos, I’ve asked Jon to talk to me about it a number of times, but he refuses, except for vagaries. So I ask you. What happened with his brothers of the Night’s Watch?” He shifted in his seat, as if uncomfortable to talk about it. “Please, I need to know. Jon’s so...different from when we were children.”

He smiled at her. “And I am certain, Lady Sansa, you are quite different to him since then.” He got up and began to pace the room, describing how Jon had led the Wilding tribes from beyond the Wall, against centuries of keeping them out of Westeros. He had done so against advice of other brothers. “Your brother is a good man. He wanted to save as many people as he could from what lies beyond.”

“And they didn’t like that,” Sansa guessed.

She was correct. “No, they did not. One night, they lured him outside and en masse, began stabbing him. Many of his senior officers, even his steward, each taking their turn and they left him bleeding in the snow.” The man shuddered at the memory. “I was only alerted to what had happened when I heard his direwolf howling. When I reached him, it was plainly obvious he was dead. Myself and some of the loyal men brought him inside. Then we were joined by Melisandre, who whispered, loud enough to be heard, that she had...seen...Jon here in Winterfell. After we were rescued from the traitors, I went to her. I have seen things, unnatural things, she has done. And I asked her if she could do anything for your brother.”

“And she brought him back to life.” It was said as a statement. 

“Aye, she did. It was a day or so before you and the Lady Brienne and her squire turned up at Castle Black,” he concluded. 

Sansa closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. She hadn’t realized how close she had come to losing her last sibling. Guilt once again washed over her for all those years when she had derided him, ignored him, insulted him. Yet, when she asked forgiveness, it was given freely, even unnecessarily in Jon’s opinion. She wished her mother had been here to see that Jon, who embraced her and swore to protect her.

Gathering herself together, Sansa spoke. “Ser Davos, I wish to do something. Partly, it is to give Jon his due, but also, it is to protect myself and the North. I want your opinion.”

“It is given, my lady. You need only ask.”

“While I am grateful for Lord Baelish bringing the Knights of the Vale to aid us in the battle, I am leery of him,” Sansa said.

He chuckled at that. “You and every other lord here.”

She nodded in understanding. “He has always desired to be greater than he is. I know when he was younger, he sought the hand of a highborn lady, but she was promised to another and, when he died, she married his brother. Now, I fear he seeks her daughter in a similar manner.” She hoped she was communicating as needed to explain her rationale. He didn’t look to understand exactly, so with deep breath, she finished, “Me.” She got out of her chair and went to the window. “With my brothers Robb and Rickon dead, and with Bran presumed dead, the titles that goes along with Winterfell would fall to me. And, I have been told a number of times that I am the key to the North.”

“After your father died, Robb was proclaimed King of the North,” Davos said after a moment. “Can I assume you are including that as well?” 

She nodded. “I am afraid of being in the position of having that power and used for them. Baelish’s ambitions aim for more than the North, as he told me a few days ago.”

It seemed that, at last, Davos understood where this was going. “You want to hand the titles to Jon? You want him to be crowned as King in the North?” he asked her, though he was unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

“Jon is every bit a Stark as I or my siblings are, even if he’s not so named. If he were a trueborn, it would be his. Now, I cannot legitimize him, but he wouldn’t strictly need that for be Lord of Winterfell or King in the North, correct?” 

Davos struggled unhelpfully. “My lady, I was annointed a knight and sentenced as a smuggler in nearly the same breath. I have little knowledge of the intricacy of noble inheritance.” Sansa let out a huff. “You fear Baelish enough to do this? To pass over yourself?”

“I don’t trust Littlefinger,” she said, calling him by his nickname. “He wanted my mother and he wants me, but more important, he wants the Iron Throne itself. And I...know things.” The memory of her Aunt Lysa’s death returned, but she stopped herself from saying anything more.

“Lady Sansa,” Davos said when she turned back to him. “It’s a kindly wish to grant Jon Snow these honors, but you would most likely need more than your good will.”

“I have brought this up to two of our bannermen. I have the support of Lady Mormont and Lord Reed when the time comes.”

“Lord Reed I do not know well, but Lady Mormont…” He smirked at her, probably remembering his first encounter with the Lady of Bear Island. “When Stannis made his offer to Jon after he was named Lord Commander, he showed him a scroll she sent in answer to his request for soldiers to fight the Boltons. ‘Bear Island knows no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark,’” he seemed to repeat from memory.

Sansa returned the smile. “She would speak well for my cause. And Lord Reed fought beside our father in Dorne. He was there to return my Aunt Lyanna’s bones to the North.”

Davos nodded. “I don’t know if you see another problem with your plan, however,” Davos said. When she gave him a questioning look, he said, “The man himself.”

Letting out a sigh, she replied, “I have thought of that, actually. And, you are right. The chances of Jon accepting…” She let her voice trail off. “I’ve been thinking about this for some time and I realize, if I go through with it, I would be confirming all my late mother’s fears.” She looked to Davos. “She always believed that if he were acknowledged as a Stark, he would try to take a place ahead of us. She wouldn’t be pleased to know I am freely handing them over.”

“No offense, my lady, but I don’t know how she could see that,” Davos said. “I may not know your brother for long, but in everything I have ever seen from the boy, power has been the last thing he has wanted.”

“He is Father all over again,” she mumbled, almost to herself. Ned Stark never wanted to go to King’s Landing, even when his friend offered him the position of Hand. In the end, she figured his honor compelled him to take the position. And it was that honor that got him killed. 

“I have heard that on occasion, from Stannis himself,” Davos commented. “My Lady, if it is my opinion you seek, if you can get him to agree to it, I see no fault in it. It keeps the North in the hands of Stark blood and it holds Baelish at bay, if what you say is true of his desires.” When she did not reply,he must have assumed they were finished. But, before he left, Davos asked, “If your concerns about Littlefinger are so great, why not try to get him to leave Winterfell?”

“If he leaves, the Knights of the Vale leave as well. We would lose more than half our forces and they are men we need if we are to confront whatever it is Jon has seen beyond the Wall. And I don’t have enough to bring against him to Lord Royce.” She knew what he had done to Lysa, pushing her out the Moon Door, but Sansa had already testified to the Lords of the Vale that her aunt had killed herself. But she was sure there had to be more that could be discovered to end Lord Baelish. She would need more time to look for it. 

“In any case, my lady, I stand by your decision regarding this matter. When the time comes, if you are in need of my assistance in reach your goal with your stubborn brother, by all means, ask.” With a nod, Davos left her solar.

Sansa was left by herself, again, contemplating her situation. Davos was right, Jon would more likely fight against her plan than back it, but the more she thought about it, it was the only option. She remained committed to the course she had set.


	4. Tormund Giantsbane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in this chapter. I always knew it was going to be the hardest one, but, in the end, I figured a way it would work, and include a little ship I have come to love on Game of Thrones! The good news is, in working through this chapter, I was able to get most of the next (and more than likely last) one done! It should be up later in this week. For now, enjoy and please let me know what you think!
> 
> Still un-beta’d but I’ve tried my best.

Sansa had almost all the pieces she needed for her plan in place. She had the support of a young leader who had already pledged herself and her house to House Stark. She had the backing of an old ally of her father’s, one who had fought beside him in battle. She would be backed by a friend of her brother’s, one who seemed to know Jon better than her. But there was one last person she looked to for her cause. He was a former enemy turned friend of Jon’s and the Night’s Watch.

She was surprised to find him when he crossed her path in the Godswoods. She had spent a good deal of time there since they had retaken Winterfell, but after her solace had been interrupted by Littlefinger, when he had laid out his whole plan to her, she felt the place was tainted, somehow. It took her some time to rediscover her peace there, and it felt like a sign when the Wilding chief found her in the sanctuary of the Old Gods.

His shadow fell across her, startling her. “Lord Giantsbane,” she said, collecting herself.

The man let out a hearty laugh. “When I first met your brother, he thought I was someone else and call me ‘Your Grace’” he said. “But we Free Folk do not recognize many kings, but the ones from our own. And we certainly do not have lords and ladies. I am simply Tormund.” Then he looked to the weirwood tree. “There is one of these far in the north. A giant of a tree, and some say it is haunted by small goblins.”

Sansa lifted her eyes to look upon the carved face. “It has stood here for eight thousand years, the Stark tradition goes. Back to Bran the Builder.” Her eyes shifted back the ground, momentarily thinking of her younger brother. 

“The man who built the Wall?” Tormund asked.

“According to the lore, yes. Our younger brother was named after him. He would love to hear stories of our history, of knights and great battles,” Sansa continued.

“He was the one who was crippled.” He looked to her, offering solace. “Jon has spoken of him. It is alleged by one of the Crows, one who is friends with Jon, that he passed through the Wall, into the North.”

“Jon told me that his friend Sam let his through. Though I still would like to know why.” She lifted her eyes again to the carved face. “I don’t think he’s alive anymore.”

Tormund chuckled. “If there is one thing I have learned about your family, it is that you are not easily killed.”

He turned to leave her, but she called his name. “Tormund, I must speak to you on some matters.” She stood up, checking around her. “I would like to talk to you about Jon.” They walked around the Godswoods, going deeper into the park. “You and Jon were enemies once, am I understanding that correctly?”

Tormund nodded. “We captured him and he acted as though he intended to betray the Crows and aid us in attacking Castle Black. But he betrayed us instead and led the defense of the fortification. I threatened to kill him but was not able to fulfill my promise.”

She pursed her lips. “Something I am grateful to the gods for,” she said.

“As am I,” Tormund nodded. “After the battle, he wanted to negotiate with Mance Rayder, who we proclaimed King-Beyond-the-Wall. When Mance was to be sacrificed at the stake by the Red Witch, Jon shot him in the heart with an arrow. A mercy, but one I am thankful for.”

“And he tried to rescue your people from Hardhome?”

“He did all he could. But we were overrun by the Army of the Dead,” Tormund explained. “And trying to save us is what…” He stopped himself from finishing his sentence.

“It got him killed,” she said, completing the thought, looking to him for confirmation. The big redhead merely nodded. “I remember when we were reunited, and he made a comment about it. It was so casual, like he got a cut on his finger. Nearly stopped my heart. I came so close to losing the last of my family.” She still shuddered at the thought of that. She hated herself for all the years of mistreatment, again.

“But you have each other now, yes? And is there not another sister?”

Sansa let out a sign. “I haven’t seen her since the day our father was arrested. I can’t think that she’d still be alive.”

Tormund placed his hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Remember, you Starks are hard to kill.”

Thinking of her parents, Robb and Rickon, she replied, “If only that were true.” But she shook off the thoughts any further. 

He smiled at her, sensing her sadness. “I remember seeing you come into Castle Black. Although, no offense, Lady Sansa, but you were not the one who held my attention.” 

Now she chuckled, thinking of the man’s interactions with Brienne “You creep her out, do you know that?”

Now he looked offended. “I do not! I am merely in awe of her beauty!”

That had never been a comment she had heard about her guardian. “She has never been admired for her...appearance. Mocked, more than likely.”

“Then they are blind. I dream about making babies with her. She would make a fine partner for any man,” he went on, defending Brienne. “Do you know when she will be returning?”

Sansa had received a raven that morning. It would take some time to return from the Riverlands. Winter had come and was moving over the whole of Westeros, slowing much of the movement south of the Greywater Watch. Not all of the Seven Kingdoms were as prepared for winter as the North, and House Stark. “She and Podrick are making their way. They should be here in week.”

He smiled again. “I will await her return,” he said as he turned to leave.

“Wait, Lor-Tormund,” she called out. He stopped and faced here. “I still need your counsel on something.” The chieftain waited. “You said that you do not recognize kings but your own. But, I must ask, if it were a man you knew, one you fought alongside, even if he were not Free Folk, would you? Would you recognize him as a king?”

He returned to her standing in front of her. “I have known a king. I have fought alongside him. But as much of a friend as Jon Snow is, I would not call him my king, nor would any of my people.” Sansa deflated at his words. “I would stand with him, though, as an ally in the coming battles, in the Long Night.”

She met him in the eyes, understanding what he was saying. Jon would have Tormund’s support, his allegiance, not as a king, but as a comrade. “There will be a meeting of the Northern Lords, the Lords of the Vale, all who helped up take back Winterfell. You are the leader of the Free Folk. It is only right that you are there to represent your people.”

“Then so shall I be there,” he answered her with a tilt of his head. Then he did turn and leave.

She remained in the Godswoods for a while longer, thinking over her strategy. Briefly, she wished Tyrion was there to offer his advice. In the past few weeks, she had silently thanked him for what she had learned in the brief time of their marriage. He would talk often about the machinations of Joffrey’s Small Council, what plans Tywin or Cersei were plotting. Except for one plan, of course. He had only learned of it after the fact, after Joffrey bragged about it. 

Tyrion had cursed his nephew and his father, long and loudly. She ignored most of it, caught up in her grief. But she had heard. “This is a blow from which I think my house will never recover from. And they are all damn fools to pat themselves on the back for it. To betray guest rights! To kill family they are bound through marriage with! I pray the gods send them to all Seven Hells.”

Tyrion had spent the remained of their marriage trying to console her. But, at the time, she wanted none of it. Part of her lumped him in with the rest of the Lannisters. He must have had some knowledge of it. But then, for the brief time she had watched as Joffrey lay dying at his wedding, Sansa had noticed just how her husband was at the fate that had befallen his nephew. She knew Tyrion was many things, but he would never stoop so low, never be so subtle in his kill.

Something that Tywin Lannister had learned a few moons later. When Sansa had heard of his death, there was no mourning, no pity for him. Her only thought on the matter was what had happened to the man she had married. She still wondered where he was, if he was even still alive. He could very well be another name on her list, the list of those she had lost in the last few years. Sansa found herself regretting adding Tyrion Lannister’s name to it. 

Taking another look around, she whispered to the weirwood tree, “What would you say of my maneuver, my lord? Would you think it wise or foolish, giving up such power to a bastard? To crown him King in the North? You served one who sat on the Iron Throne, would you think Jon Snow more worthy than Joffrey?” 

Jon had told her about his encounter with him, the night of the feast in honor of the King’s party, when they arrived at Winterfell. “Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you.” But, in essence, that was what she was doing, letting the world forget him being a bastard, letting him be proclaimed king.

She rose from where she had been sitting, taking one last look at the weirwood tree. She prayed to the Old Gods that she was making the correct decision. The wind kicked up for a moment, but then, a ray of sunshine broke through, bathing her in light.

She smiled, satisfied, and turned to leave.


	5. Jon Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very likely the last chapter. I have an idea for an epilogue, but need to think it through more before I commit it to paper (or screen, nowadays). This is a fill in for the scene in “The Winds of Winter”, where a certain young lady stands up and prompts a bunch of old men in a particular direction. It also tries to explain that look on Littlefinger’s face when the crowd is shouting. For, you can’t have kingmakers with the king.
> 
> Unbeta’d, but if anyone wants to offer for the future, drop me a line. Because there are more stories to tell, and I intend to tell them. Not that I own any of the characters, settings or events GRRM, or HBO, has presented.

Sansa took a deep breath before knocking on Jon’s door. This was the moment she had been working up to. Behind the scenes, she had been laying the groundwork, and it appeared that Littlefinger had not caught onto her plan. But now was the time for cards on the table, and hope that Jon agreed. 

“Come in,” he called, responding to her knock. She opened the door and saw him at a desk, looking over a map of the land beyond the Wall. It looked like he was strategizing, planning his next battle. But there was a weariness, standing there and staring at nothing. “Sansa, have they all arrived?”

There had been a call to all of House Stark’s bannermen to come to Winterfell. It was partly a celebration of the victory in battle, even though a great number of them had refused to help the Starks when they needed them. But mostly, it was to make clear the rule of the North, that the Starks had once more reclaimed their position of Lord Paramount of the North, even as the North still saw itself as an independent kingdom. Decisions needed to be made about what to do next, now that winter had come.

Sansa nodded. “The last of them were here by first light. I’ve told them to meet in the Great Hall in two hours.”

Jon looked at her like didn’t understand something. “If they’re all here, we should get on with it.”

Sansa shook her head as she turned to close the door. Then she returned his gaze. “Before we meet with our lords, there is something…” She could feel herself losing her nerve, but she fought against it. “Something I need to talk to you about, before we address them.”

Jon must have seen the grave expression on her face, because he offered her a look of concern. “Has something happened? Has there been word on Bran or Arya?”

She had almost wished there had been. “No,” she said, “It’s nothing like that.” Her nerves were acting up, so she began pacing to quell them. “Jon, what I’m about to tell you, I don’t want you to get angry. I don’t want you to run to defend me. You need to hear me out entirely.” 

She knew it wasn’t the best way to open, but it was what tumbled out of her mouth. She could see the anger swell in him at the thought of needing to defend her, but he must have noticed her behavior, and nodded his agreement.

When he seemed to remain calm, she began. “Lord Baelish cornered me in the Godswoods since we have been back at Winterfell, and, for the first time, confessed his greatest wish to me. He said he has a picture of himself sitting on the Iron Throne...with me beside him.” Jon only got angrier at her words, so she added quickly, “I told him, essentially, it would never happen. Then he said he had publicly declared for House Stark, and then implied I should be the rallying point, ‘the trueborn daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, or a motherless bastard born in the south.”

When she was younger, she would often throw that word at Jon. It was an early age when she first remembered her mother uttering it, in hushed tones, to her father. When she was old enough to know what it meant, it had been her favorite insult, one that would be answered with distressed or withering glances from her siblings, especially from Arya. Saying it now made her flinch at it, but she was merely quoting Littlefinger. 

As expected, Jon frowned, as he had done when they were children, but also seemed resigned. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s right this time.”

It was just as she thought. “No, he’s wrong.” 

Jon offered her a sad smile. “Where is he wrong? I am a bastard, and you, a trueborn daughter. I told you already, it was because of you that we won back our home. I made one mistake after the other, mostly because I didn’t listen to you.” He walked to the window to avoid her eyeline. “You told me Ramsey would lay a trap, and I fell right into it...and it cost Rickon his life.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Which you were also right about.”

She ignored the pain of their latest loss, focusing in on why she was there now. “Jon!” she growled. He returned his attention to her. “He. Is. Wrong.” Before her brother replied, she went over to him, grabbing his shoulders. “You are the son of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Every lesson you learned, you learn from him. I was never instructed in negotiation, or defense. I learned needlework, and singing and the graces of a lady.”

“You’ve come to know the working of politics,” he pointed out quietly. “That still bewilders me.”

She tried not to roll her eyes. “Yes, I did learn, from Cersei Lannister,” she retorted with disgust. She needn’t bring up Tyrion, and what she had learned from him. “Jon, since I left here, I was a pawn, played on a board. Even before I left, really, with Mother and Father betrothing me to Joffrey. Then after Father’s execution, I was a hostage to them, married off to Tyrion, then Baelish sold me to Roose Bolton for his son. I’d think you’d have better teachers than that lot.”

He went quiet for a moment, his eyes shifting back and forth. “Where are you going with this?”

Now was the whole purpose of meeting with him. “Robb declared the North free of the Seven Kingdoms and our lords declared him our king. Even with his death, there has been no rescinding of that proclamation. We are still independent. We still need a king.”

He understood immediately, and shook his head furiously. “No, not me.”

“You’re Ned Stark’s son. You rallied the forces to fight Ramsey! Without you, the Free Folk would never have joined us! If you weren’t here, I’d still be…” She didn’t even want to think where she would have been without Jon.

“No, Sansa. Not me!” he shouted. “I don’t want it, I never wanted it, not even in the Night’s Watch!” She saw the determination in his face, the stubbornness that made him look even more like their father than he already did.

“Why not?”

“Because it was what she always feared!”

Sansa knew who the she was, knew it would be one of his rebuttals. “Catelyn Tully is dead, Jon,” she said, unable to keep the sadness from her voice. It would always kill her a little to think of her mother’s death and the legacy she had left. While there were many noble attributes to her, Sansa had seen the one stain on her character, more glaring than the siring of a bastard on her father’s. “If she were alive, if you were all that was left of her husband’s sons while she was still alive, she would agree with me.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “Family, Duty, Honor are the Tully family words. Which of them do you not embody?”

She was near tears by now, and Jon came back to embrace her. “Sansa…”

“She was wrong about you, and she knew it.” It was a whisper, but a memory Sansa that come upon of late. She parted from her brother and told him, “Remember when you were sick with the pox? You nearly died. Robb kept trying to come into your room, but Maester Luwin wouldn’t let him. Father sat with you, every night. But then, the last night or so, when I went to see you, Mother was by your bedside. She was praying, Jon. She was making promises, if you lived, to be a mother to you, to give you the Stark name. It may have never happened, but she did think it, at one time.”

He let out a long sigh. “Even if it could have her blessing, none of the lords would support it,” he said.

“Lady Mormont would,” Sansa replied, “And Lord Reed. One, your most devoted banner, the other, one of Father’s greatest friends. They will rally the others. And there is Ser Davos and Tormund to speak up for you as well.” Then she grew stern. “I cannot take it. I am too easy a pawn to be played once again. A woman to be sold in marriage, and then who would control the North? Not me, but my husband.”

“I would never allow…”

“I know, but you are the safer choice. Please, Jon, I have thought this through from so many different angles.” She was pleading with him to not argue the matter further. If it had been Arya here to broach the matter with him, she’d throw in a few whimpering faces, but Sansa never played the little sister act on him. “Please, trust me on this.”

He stepped back, his shoulders slumped. She could tell he wasn’t going to fight against her anymore. “But it will never happen. The other lords...I’m still a bastard to them, no matter what I’ve been able to do,” he said at last, letting out a breath.

Her smile wasn’t beaming, but it was there. “You know nothing, Jon Snow.” And she walked away.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The hall reverberated with the cries of “King in the North!” Not everyone cheered, though. She saw Tormund sitting there, saying nothing. But she could tell he approved by the brightness in his eyes. Ser Davos, who had served beside Jon, from Castle Black to Winterfell, shouted loudly, his eyes near tears. The Knights of the Vale raised their swords with the Northern lords, signalling their approval. And all the houses of the North, all acclaimed her brother.

But the only solemn face she saw was Petyr Baelish.

His eyes stayed on her and she knew what he was silently communicating. He knew what she had done, that she had been the impetus for the anointing. He had overplayed his hand, revealed to much and she blocked him. And she knew from his expression, he had only been stalled, not stopped entirely. 

Her happiness faltered for a moment. No, she would not let Littlefinger ruin this for the Starks. So Sansa eyed the other man and then offered him a gracious, ladylike smile. The great game was still being played, and she aimed to win.


End file.
